


Of Water and Warmth

by nanuk_dain



Series: Of Soldiers and Secrets [5]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-25
Updated: 2011-09-25
Packaged: 2017-10-24 00:52:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/257022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanuk_dain/pseuds/nanuk_dain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After days of fever and sickness, Lipton wants to clean up. Or: How Speirs and Lipton shared a shower.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Water and Warmth

  
[   
](http://pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/pic/0008xqg1)   


 

When Lipton woke, it was dark around him. It took him a moment to make sure that he had indeed opened his eyes, and it was only the light coming from the fireplace that convinced him that he wasn't asleep anymore. He turned carefully, moving slowly so as not to upset his head. The curtains, torn and tattered as they were, had been drawn closed. Through the holes in the fabric he could see faint light outside, and it told him that it was either dusk or dawn.

He'd been asleep for so long that he'd lost track of time, only awake for a few moments here and there. But now he felt better, remarkably better, actually. The last thing he remembered was seeing Doc Roe perched over him. If he wasn't mistaken, Ron had been behind him, that soft smile on his lips that always made Carwood feel special. When he looked around now though, the room was empty. It made him assume that it was dusk and that duty was demanding Ron's presence. He remembered the feeling of a warm body at his back, pressing against him under layers of blankets and making him feel safe. He could only guess that it had been Ron sleeping next to him in the narrow bed. The thought made him smile. He always enjoyed it when Ron showed that he cared, showed it in his very own way, without ever saying a word.

Lipton slowly sat up in the bed, relieved that the world stayed horizontal and didn't tilt from one side to the other like it had done the last time he'd tried to sit up. He took his time, well aware that he felt better than he probably was. It wouldn't do for Ron to find him passed out on the floor because he'd overdone it.

He pulled the blanket back to have a look at his uniform, still black from the dirt of Bastogne and stained with sweat and blood. He couldn't suppress the desire to take it off, get a bath and put on fresh, clean clothes. He felt as if he was spoiling the sheets, but he'd probably already done that over the past few days and there was little left to spoil.

“I need a shower.” Carwood murmured to himself and passed a hand over his cheek. “And a shave.”

Just as he was thinking about getting up and trying to clean up, he heard footsteps in the hallway right before the door was pushed open. Ron stopped in the doorframe, handle still between his fingers, and stared at him. It seemed to take him a moment to recover, then a little smile spread over his face and he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

"You're awake." he said quietly, and Carwood thought he heard something like relief in his voice. "How are you?"

“I feel fine, compared to the last time I remember being awake.” Carwood replied and wondered when that had actually been. “How long was I out?”

“Three days.” Ron watched him, still standing at the door. “You seem much better, now.”

“I think I am. But I feel filthy and sweaty.” Carwood wrinkled his nose. “And although I can't really smell much, I know that I stink. I need a bath.”

Ron chuckled. “Let's just say that a shower certainly wouldn't do you any harm.”

“It will have to wait another day, I fear. I'm not up for the communal showers.” Carwood admitted quietly, his cheeks slightly red. “I don't think I have the strength to stay upright for ten minutes, never mind stripping in the cold.”

“Who said I would let a sick man use the communal showers?” Ron smirked. “Doc Roe would never forgive me if I let you fall ill again after all the trouble he went through to break your fever.”

Carwood frowned in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Ron walked towards him and stopped right in front of the bed, his gaze wandering over Carwood's face and body as if he was trying to see for himself that he was fine. "He made you some brew – don't ask me what was in it – and it worked better than anything the army has to offer. We fed it to you three times. The first dose alone managed to break the worst of your fever."

"I think I owe him a thank you." Carwood said more to himself than to Ron. He'd always known that Easy was incredibly lucky to have Eugene Roe as a medic.

"Yeah, you do. But first, let's get you cleaned up.” Ron offered a hand to pull Carwood off the bed. “The officers use the private showers, those that still work at least. This house happens to have one of them.”

Carwood hid a smirk. He knew that the functioning bathroom was probably the reason Ron had commandeered this house in the first place. He took Ron's hand and accepted the help getting up. He felt unsteady on his feet and was grateful for the support, for the hand that came to rest on his back, stabilising him. "Are you all right to stand on your own for a moment?"

Carwood nodded and Ron let go of him, slowly, as if he didn't trust him to remain upright. When Carwood didn't sway, he went over to his footlocker and opened it.

"Do you have still have a fresh uniform?" Ron asked while reaching for something inside the wooden box and coming up with a new bar of soap.

"At the bottom of my duffel bag." Carwood replied and nodded towards the foot of the bed. Ron just grabbed the whole bag and threw it over his shoulder, then he came back to Carwood and took hold of his elbow.

"Come on, let's get to the bathroom." he said and guided Carwood out of the room and down the hallway. They passed the stairs and stopped at a door at the other end of the hallway. Ron pushed it open and gestured for Carwood to get inside. There was a tub in the little room, complete with gilded claw feet and a separate shower head. For a moment Carwood couldn't help wondering if Ron had checked the houses to find one with an actual bathroom. The former inhabitants must have been quite wealthy people to have owned such luxury, and right now Carwood was grateful that Ron had chosen this precise house.

The door closed behind him and then came the unmistakable sound of the key turning in the lock. Carwood turned around and found Ron at the door, sorting through the duffel bag and pulling out the different pieces of Carwood's uniform, setting them neatly on the low stool next to the washbasin. Carwood watched him almost dumbfounded, his mind not following. He'd expected Ron to show him the bathroom and then leave him to clean up. Instead, Ron stood up once he was done with the duffel bag and walked over to the tub, opening the taps and feeling the temperature, letting the water warm up. Then he came over and began to open Carwood's stained uniform jacket without the slightest hesitation.

Carwood was surprised for a moment, too stunned to react in any way. He just stood in the middle of the bathroom and felt Ron pushing off his jacket, then his shirt and his undershirt. He moved with the casual efficiency typical for most men in the army, his fingers quick and deft, his eyes focussed on his task. He had Carwood undressed within a minute and shed his own clothes even quicker and folded them on the stool on top of Carwood's fresh uniform. Carwood wasn't able to keep the blush from rising on his cheeks while watching him, feeling that undressing and bathing together was a strangely intimate action.

Ron checked the water, then made Carwood get in the tub and followed him, pushing him under the spray of the shower head. Only a second later Ron stepped close and pressed against his back, skin against skin from shoulder to leg, one arm wrapped tightly around Carwood's waist, gently supporting him. For a moment Carwood stiffened at the sudden touch, but he quickly relaxed back into the firm embrace, his head falling on Ron's shoulder. His cheek rested against Ron's, the slight stubble rough against his skin. His eyes were closed, the warm water pouring down over his body. Ron was a reassuring presence at his back, and it made Cardwood feel comfortable and safe, made him wish that he never had to leave again. It was his very own piece of heaven, right here in the middle of war-torn Haguenau.

After a moment Ron let go of him and his hands came up with the soap in his fingers. He lathered Carwood's hair, his fingers tender and gentle in a way that had Carwood sigh under his breath, entrusting himself entirely to Ron's care. The fresh scent of the soap filled his nose, replacing the smell of sweat and dirt and sickness that had lingered on him for the past few days, and it immediately made him feel better. Ron took his time, his hands passing over every inch of skin with the soap firmly in his grip, washing and cleaning him with a concentration and thoroughness that made Carwood smile. His touch wasn't meant to arouse, it was meant to comfort, to clean, and every graze of skin, every swipe of soap and fingers passing over his body relaxed Carwood more. He couldn't remember anybody ever taking care of him like that and he leaned into the touch, unable to resist the comfort it offered.

Ron raised the shower head and washed the soap out of Carwood's hair, off his body, never ceasing the gentle touches and the calming caresses. Then he quickly washed himself before he turned off the water and stepped out of the tub. He passed a towel over his hair before he wrapped it around his hips and reached for a second one.

“Come here.” Ron ordered him quietly, holding a rather large towel in his outstretched hands. Carwood stepped into it, Ron's arms closing around him, the surprisingly soft cloth wrapping around him in a gentle embrace. Carwood just leaned in, taking pleasure in the safe cocoon of Ron's arms and allowing himself to give in to his exhaustion. He'd been sick for so long that he no longer knew how it felt to be comfortable in his own body, without aches and pains. In this moment though, finally clean again, relaxed from the warm water and cuddled up against Ron, he remembered what it was like.

“Thank you.” Carwood murmured against Ron's neck, his eyes closed, breathing in to catch Ron's clean scent. There was no reply, but Carwood felt the soft press of lips on his temple, the arms around him tightening ever so slightly.

“Let's get you dressed and then back to bed.” Ron said quietly, and Carwood could hear the silent smile in his voice. “You need a lot of rest. Doc told me to take care of that.”

“I still have to shave.” Carwood remembered, not bothering to either move or open his eyes.

“All in its proper time, Car.” Ron replied, his hands passing over the cloth in an attempt to rub him dry. “Now it's time for you to rest. I'll give you a shave in the morning.”

Carwood just nodded, too comfortable to do anything but stay right there in Ron's arms. He'd never thought that somebody taking care of him would be so addictive. He felt relaxed and although his throat was still raw and his head was hurting faintly, he couldn't remember a time when he'd been better.

Ron chuckled quietly, his hands had stopped rubbing and lay still on Carwood's back. “We have to move at some point, Car.”

“I know.” Carwood's words were barely audible, his nose buried against Ron's neck, his lips close to the skin. He smelled so good, clean, like his soap – it wasn't the army issued soap – and there was something else that had already been imprinted in Carwood's memory, the scent he defined as 'Ron'. He loved to smell it when he was close to him, when they lay together at night, dressed in their warmest clothes and buried under as many blankets as they had in order to stay warm. It was always there, this scent, a faint note, and to Carwood it meant things he didn't dare to put in words, not even in his mind.

Ron's hand came up and passed through Carwood's wet hair. “Come on now, Car. It's getting cold, and I don't want your pneumonia to come back.”

Reluctantly, Carwood stepped back. Ron let go of him to rub himself dry and Carwood followed his example, though he moved slower. He felt the exhaustion creep back into his bones, and the thought of getting back into bed was suddenly very tempting. He accepted the clothes Ron handed over, dressing in silence. It took only a few minutes, then he was wrapped up in the many layers of his uniform right down to the jacket and the boots. Ron opened the door after listening for a moment, then he indicated for Carwood to go back to their room. He followed a moment later with the duffel bag on his shoulder and Carwood's dirty uniform in his hands, folded neatly into a small stack. He locked the door to their room behind him before he set the bag and the pile of clothes down on the floor.

“Get into bed, Car.” Ron's words were almost an order, and Carwood obeyed and sat down on the mattress. He wished he could change the sheets, but there weren't any new ones so they would have to do. His whole body felt heavy with exhaustion. Carwood gave in to the urge to lie down and close his eyes, not bothering to remove his boots. He curled up on his side and pulled the blankets over himself in an attempt to keep warm.

He couldn't tell how much time had passed when he felt the mattress dip behind him, then the blankets were lifted and a body pressed against his back. Ron's arm wrapped around his waist in a firm grip and pulled him closer, and Carwood relaxed into his warmth. He was already half asleep when he felt Ron's lips on his neck, a chaste, lingering touch against his skin, and when he heard Ron breathe out it was shaky. Ron's arm around his waist tightened, his hand clenching into a fist in the fabric of the uniform jacket, and Carwood felt how he buried his nose in the hair at the nape of his neck.

It took Carwood's sleepy mind a moment to process his actions, but then he understood. He lay quietly for a long time, wondering what had happened during these past few days. He didn't remember much himself, only delusional fever dreams that mingled with reality so much that he couldn't tell them apart. There were bits of the men, of Doc Roe, of Ron. There was heat and cold, pain and violent coughing and fire in his lungs. He'd been pretty out of it, and it occurred to him only now that it might have been worse than he'd thought.

"How bad was it?" Carwood finally asked, his voice no more than a whisper in the darkness. Ron didn't reply, he just let out a slow breath and tightened his grip even more.

"Bad." He murmured after a long time, and Carwood felt his warm breath on his skin more than he heard the actual word. It made him shiver with the realisation that he must have come pretty close if he'd managed to unsettle Ron. He wasn't shaken easily, but Carwood had noticed the bags under Ron's eyes, had noticed the looks Ron had thrown him when he'd thought that Carwood wasn't looking. He'd attributed it to the general strain of war, not to his sickness, but now that he thought about it, war had never been able to wear Ron down this much before.

Carwood knew there were no words to make things better, to offer comfort, so he pressed against the firm body at his back and settled his hand over Ron's, easing his clenched fingers out of Carwood's jacket to entwine them with his own. Ron didn't say a word, but his fingers slid between Carwood's immediately, his grip just as tight as it had been on the fabric of the uniform.

“Sleep, Car.” he murmured against Carwood's neck, the same silent order Carwood remembered from his feverish dreams.

He followed it, just as he had done then.

**Author's Note:**

> Banner made by the awesome Megan_Moonlight


End file.
